


Something missing

by Margot_Lescargot



Series: Burdens of Responsibility [5]
Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: M/M, Spoilers for Broken Homes, Spoilers for Foxglove Summer, covers action from just before Broken Homes to part-way through Foxglove Summer, crack with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-24 23:22:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21346465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Margot_Lescargot/pseuds/Margot_Lescargot
Summary: Lessons on how to communicate.Nightingale- and Seawoll-style.
Relationships: Thomas Nightingale/Alexander Seawoll
Series: Burdens of Responsibility [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1522985
Comments: 17
Kudos: 45





	Something missing

**Author's Note:**

> Covers the action of Broken Homes and (some of) Foxglove Summer.  
Thanks to PerchingOwl for beta and rescuing one particular scene :)  
Title from Broken Homes  


The pub was pretty well full when Thomas arrived, although he was over two hours late in getting there. Peter was in fact still at the Folly, trawling through HOLMES for any information on a new Little Crocodile who had come to light, but he had shooed Thomas out of the coach house, saying that at least one of them should represent the Folly at DI Stephanopoulos’ promotion drinks since she had gone to the trouble of inviting them. 

Although not quite at capacity, it was still a fair turnout to congratulate Stephanopoulos, and, as Thomas edged through the crowd, one of the first people he saw – and he was, admittedly, hard to miss in any crowd – was Seawoll, standing, chatting, in the midst of a group of his officers. Because he happened to be looking in the right direction, Seawoll spotted Thomas at almost the same time. Seawoll looked at him, somewhat strangely he thought, and so Thomas redirected the step he was about to take towards his group and made for the bar instead.

The Belgravia nick’s local where the event was being held – for, as Thomas thought, police officers were nothing if not predictable – was a former Victorian gin palace which still had its original etched mirrors behind the bar; or at least a decent approximation of them, Thomas couldn’t tell without a closer look. In any event, whatever their provenance, they offered Thomas an excellent view of the group behind him while he waited to be served.

He wasn’t as assiduous as he might have been in attracting the barman’s attention, and watched covertly as Seawoll cast a searching look at Thomas’ back and then scanned the rest of the bar, clearly looking for someone. Having spotted them, Thomas saw Seawoll stride grimly over to Stephanopoulos, pull her rudely away from the group she was chatting with and bend down to say something in her ear. As he did so, Thomas saw her turn briefly to see him standing at the bar, shrug and respond to Seawoll with an air of injured innocence which would have fooled noone. Whatever she said to Seawoll made him cast one more fulminating look at Thomas which he then turned on Stephanopoulos. It was a look that would have quelled more senior officers than her, but she merely smiled archly, and returned to her conversation.

Thomas looked away quickly in case Seawoll should catch him watching in the mirror, and focused instead on getting served.

‘Hi Inspector.’ Thomas turned to find DC Guleed standing at his elbow. He bought her an orange juice and they chatted for a while about determinedly non-magical policing matters until Guleed’s attention was claimed by a voluble PC, whose general appearance was just starting to fray around the edges, and who said she had something _really important _to tell Sahra. Guleed raised her eyebrows in apology and moved off with the young woman.

After Guleed had excused herself, Thomas sought out Stephanopoulos to offer his congratulations. Miriam was by this time somewhat worse for wear and insisted on introducing him to everyone in the circle she was chatting to – which was a large one – and then began to tell a somewhat involved story about chicken husbandry, a topic in which her friends were surprisingly engaged thought Thomas. 

Thomas had been nursing an empty glass for some time before Miriam released him and he decided another drink was in order. He found DC Carey propping up the bar – or it could really be said to be the other way around – and swaying slightly. In that state, however, Carey seemed much more inclined to conversation with Thomas than usual, and they had what passed for an amicable chat, while Thomas studiously avoided offering him anything further to drink, before he excused himself rather hurriedly and stumbled off in the direction of the gents.

Last orders were due, and the pub had eventually started thinning out; no doubt some present were on an early shift tomorrow. Thomas thought he could probably manage one more drink. Spotting a DI waiting to be served at the bar who he had had dealings with on a case a few years previously when she was a DS, and who was _relatively_ well-disposed to Folly matters, he greeted and joined her.

After watching the DI thread her way back to her table with an impressively laden tray of drinks, he allowed himself a swift glance around the pub and saw Seawoll deep in conversation with two DCIs from Fraud. Thomas thought that, after all, perhaps he didn’t need another drink and really it would be most sensible to call it a night. 

He could spy Stephanopoulos, and decided she was not in a state conducive to farewells. So he placed his empty glass on the bar, smiled and waved away the attention of the barman, and made his way to the exit, unaware that Seawoll’s eyes followed him to the door.

***

Following the raid on the Crossrail tunnel shaft site, Thomas was aware of the importance, as if he had not been before, of focussing his apprentices’ training. He spent a great deal more time than he had previously planning their practice, but was obliged to admit that teaching was not where his natural talents lay - especially when it involved explaining _why_ certain things happened – which it _always_ did when Peter was involved. For his own benefit, as much as that of Peter and Lesley, he decided to introduce them to the art of staff forging – of which he was inordinately fond – and he was pleased to see Lesley taking an especial interest.

They weren’t working any cases actively out of Belgravia, so Thomas did not see a great deal of Seawoll, not that that was something he dwelt on particularly. To the extent that he did, it was only to note that Seawoll’s tone was, in the main, humorously sceptical these days, rather than combative. Apart from one notable occasion, when Thomas had mentioned that he was in the process of overseeing security for an event hosted by the god and goddess of the River Thames, and Seawoll had reverted to type briefly, and excused himself, muttering that he didn’t want to know.

***

‘Any news on our undercover agents?’

Seawoll accosted Thomas on his way out of the building. 

Thomas turned. ‘Our what?’

‘Grant. And May. They’re deep cover on the Skygarden estate aren’t they? Or that’s what I’d heard at any rate.’

‘Oh I see. Yes, I saw them yesterday for breakfast as a matter of fact. There were some, er, Falcon data come to light that I needed to pass on.’

‘Are they alright?’

‘Yes. They seem so.’ This was not a Belgravia matter, and Seawoll really had no remit to ask; but Thomas understood his genuine interest in the welfare of Peter and Lesley, and so did not resent the intrusion as he once would have done.

‘They’re blending in with the locals and following up leads so far as I can tell. Oh, and Peter thinks that the architecture of a high-rise block in the Elephant and Castle has been designed specifically to precipitate a working class utopia. By means of a large glass statue, if I’m not mistaken.’

‘Does he now?’ said Seawoll.

‘Yes,’ said Thomas. ‘He does.’ And they shared a look.

‘And how is Lesley getting on? With you lot, I mean?’

Thomas bristled slightly at the implication, despite how relations had thawed between them, and Seawoll, noticing, said placatingly, ‘No. I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that I haven’t seen her in, oh’ he blew out the air in his cheeks, ‘well since that night she came to the pub and that was, what, four or five months ago.’

‘I only ask,’ he continued, ‘because I’ve tried to meet up with her, take her for a coffee, or something stronger, and just fucking catch up, you know, see how she’s getting on. But she’s having none of it, doesn’t return my calls. If I didn’t know better I’d say she was avoiding me.’ He considered. ‘I actually wondered if I might have offended her.’

Thomas could not resist. ‘You thought that did you?’

Seawoll cocked his head to one side, ‘I agree. It’s a preposterous notion, but I had to cover all possibilities.’ His mouth twisted as he tried not to smile, but then he sobered. ‘I still feel responsible for her in some ways though. She _is _ok, isn’t she?’

Thomas shrugged. ‘Yes. I mean, as in, as well as she can be.’ He paused. ‘She certainly seems more motivated of late, if that helps.’

‘I suppose. Thanks.’ He looked about, they were still standing in the corridor. ‘Well I won’t keep you. Let me know if they need anything won’t you.’

‘Of course.’ 

Their eyes held a fraction of a second longer than was necessary before Seawoll turned on his heel and strode back towards the lifts.

***

Thomas was seated in one of the cracked green leather armchairs in the atrium. He had things he ought to be getting on with, he was sure, but for the moment, he gave himself some time to breathe, to process. To try to process.

Molly was supervising Varvara in the mundane library, and Peter, poor lad, was in the second of what would no doubt be many conversations with the DPS. Funny, Thomas had never had anything to do with them before Peter joined the Folly. Now they were practically on first-name terms. 

He was surprised how easy he found it to understand Lesley’s motivation. The importance to her of not being regarded as “other” had merely outweighed every other consideration. He could understand that; he didn’t endorse it, and he was as sure that Peter would not have done the same in that position as he was sure of himself. But, so far as Lesley was concerned, he could understand it.

What he could not understand was how she had allowed _him _to get as close as he had to harming Peter. He would not soon forget the drive from Essex, which had begun seconds after taking a call from DI Stephanopoulos, until the moment when he answered an unknown number on his telephone and heard Peter’s blessed voice on it and had to pull off the road because he could not stop shaking.

What he absolutely could not understand was how Peter was dealing with it. Peter was not one for speaking about his deeper feelings, ducking under a shield of humour whenever matters grew too…complex. Thomas took no issue with that, he deployed a similar tactic himself on occasion. 

But this had been a monumental betrayal and Thomas did not know what to do or how to help him. Thomas had sworn an oath to protect and nurture Peter, and he couldn’t begin to imagine how he could fulfil that oath in the current circumstances.

He heard a distant ringing noise that it took him a moment to recognise as the front door bell. As it rang so infrequently, and all deliveries were made to the back door, the small part of Thomas’ brain that registered it assumed it must be a mistake. In any event, as he saw a black figure glide across his peripheral vision, he expected Molly to deny any prospective visitors on this of all days.

So he was surprised to hear a brief exchange occurring at the threshold, and then a sure and heavy tread – a tread that he thought he was beginning to recognise - cross the atrium towards where he was sitting. Thomas didn’t move from where he had slumped earlier, but he did try to gather his thoughts so that he could at least attempt to be civil.

‘I heard,’ said Seawoll.

Thomas remained seated but looked up to speak. ‘She could have killed him. She could have let that bastard kill him. He could have gone down with that fucking tower.’ His voice was tight, his throat constricted.

Thomas had dreamt away decades in this place so that he would never have to feel this again: the loss, the guilt. He looked down at his hands, but his eyes were dry.

‘What can I do?’ said Seawoll.

‘Nothing, I don’t think,’ he paused. ‘But thank you for coming. I do appreciate it.’

Seawoll didn’t respond, but Thomas heard him take a step towards the chair and then felt a warm hand descend on his shoulder.

Thomas felt a small part of the tension in him drain away, and, after hesitating for a moment, covered Seawoll’s hand with one of his own. Out of the corner of his eye, Thomas saw the black figure whisk around a corner and he was vaguely surprised that Molly wasn’t trying to put a stop to whatever was happening, but the thought wasn’t worth pursuing. 

They remained like that for a minute or so, saying nothing, and then Seawoll took a step back again and regarded Thomas carefully.

‘Well, what now?’ he asked.

‘Now? The DPS, at some length I would imagine, and a renewed effort to find this man. These two,’ he corrected himself.

***

The weeks following Skygarden were hard on both Peter and Thomas. They might have been harder if there had not been, as Thomas suspected, someone trying to protect them from even worse, something that was confirmed, obliquely, by Inspector Pollock in one of their many interviews. It did not amount to much, given the intricacies and protocols of the service, but it was something and Thomas appreciated it.

Time passed, and the Folly returned to a routine – or as much of a routine as they ever had – and Thomas wondered if Abigail, their newly-recruited affiliate, was filling at least part of the gaping hole in Peter that had been left by Lesley.

As their caseloads were still not overlapping, Thomas saw Seawoll with as little frequency as before. When he did, he did not thank him for his attempt to protect Peter from the worst of the DPS’s attentions. He felt it wouldn’t be good form. 

When Thomas perceived a chance opportunity that might help Peter to, perhaps, recover in some way he welcomed it and sent him to Herefordshire. Thomas didn’t think there was any realistic chance of supernatural involvement in the missing children case, he simply thought it would do no harm for Peter to leave London for a while, whatever his protestations. He was pleased that the trip had the added advantage of providing Peter with the chance to meet at least one other person trained officially in the forms and wisdoms. He was even more pleased with himself for having had the idea of sending Beverley after him.

The Folly was quieter without Peter – fewer explosions for a start – but even so, as the fine summer weather sent motes dancing through the cool air of the atrium - much to Molly’s disgust - for the first time in many years it felt less like a mausoleum.

There seemed to be a lower level of activity requiring the Folly’s attention; perhaps the demi-monde took a summer holiday too, thought Thomas wryly. He occupied himself with trying to anticipate the questions Peter would ask during practice on his return and in thwarting the somewhat perfunctory attempts of Varvara to circumvent the protections of the Folly. Then, having not seen him in several weeks, Thomas bumped into Seawoll, almost literally, in the car park of Westminster mortuary of all places. Seawoll recovered first.

‘Thomas. Alright?’

‘Yes, thank you. You?’

‘Fine, yes, thanks. Grant not with you?’’

‘Oh, hadn’t you heard? No reason you would I suppose; he’s in Herefordshire.’

‘Herefordshire? What the fu-, what’s he doing there?’

‘Well… there was an opportunity to… or rather, a case arose, not a particularly perilous one I don’t think, but it was, um, Falcon-compliant to send him to assess the circumstances and report back, as it has been impressed upon me often enough that the, er, the currency of modern policing is information.’ Thomas concluded proudly.

Seawoll didn’t even bother trying to hide his smile.

‘So anyway, that’s where he is currently. Working out of Leominster with the local force. And I suggested to Miss Brook-Thames that she might join him there.’

‘Did you?’ Seawoll thought. ‘Yes. I see. Well done you.’

‘Thank you,’ said Thomas. ‘And you, you’re on your way somewhere?’

‘I am, yes,’ said Seawoll and nodded towards the building. ‘I’ve got a particularly tasty stabbing to look at’ and he grimaced.

‘Of course. Understood. Well, I will see you at some point, Alexander, no doubt.’

There was a brief pause. ‘Alex, I think. Don’t you?’ said Seawoll.

‘Yes.’ And this time it was Thomas who could not hide his smile. ‘Alex. See you around.’

‘Idiot,’ said Seawoll with a grin, and cuffed him gently before turning and heading into the building.

Thomas himself turned and moved towards where the Jag was parked, and if anyone at that moment had claimed he was sauntering he would have denied it most vehemently.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was brought to you primarily by “Heart” by Pet Shop Boys.


End file.
